Reflections on Eight Years of Marriage
and a relationship old enough to have its own Bar Mitzvah
Dave and I realized last night that today is our 8th wedding anniversary. It’s not that we were entirely unaware that this milestone was coming, but we’ve been busy with weddings and grief and family and work and life and hadn’t sat down to discuss how we wanted to celebrate because we’ve been a bit busy this year. I think where we landed is that we might get some sushi tonight? Truthfully, we’ll wind up making a game-time decision about dinner when we inevitably realize neither of us wants to go out, and whatever we land on will likely be delivered straight to our door.
Our Love Story
These reflections won’t land nearly as well without an understanding of how we got here. So, let’s rewind time a bit, back to the summer of 2011.
I had just graduated college in May and celebrated my 21st birthday in June in NYC (where I was born). I was getting cold feet about going straight to graduate school and strongly considered staying in the city and bailing on my plans to pursue graduate studies1.
But toward the end of all that turmoil (you can read about in that footnote) came a Facebook message from another student who was enrolled to begin the PsyD program in the same department:
As with most Jewish tales, our story begins with a question:
What the hell do I say to that?
Well, the first thing I did was agree to be his Jewish friend. It turns out that Dave genuinely meant it: he didn’t have a strong Jewish community in Boulder or Fort Collins (where he had previously lived), and he couldn’t (well, maybe he could, but he didn’t) have anticipated how many of his classmates would also wind up being his Jewish friends.
My response included a shameless plug about my dreidel spinning skills and a comment about having a friend who attended the same high school (albeit 8 years after Dave).
His response to that included a comment about how his dad was the headmaster of said school, a desire to explore the Denver falafel scene to compare to South Florida (spoiler: there really was no scene, until recently, when a friend opened a pop-up falafel shop called Falafayette, which is home to the best falafel in all of Colorado), and a note about how his (now our) friend Pam is a recognized Major League Dreidel Champion.
In these early weeks of our budding friendship, Dave’s futon frame (his bachelor pad’s couch) needed replacing and he suggested I go with him to see Sal, the Futon Guy, because Sal was likely to provide a discount if I pretended to be Dave’s Jewish Girlfriend. To be clear, I did not believe him one iota but nevertheless agreed to join him in this endeavor. Unsurprisingly given the setup here, Sal did indeed give Dave a discount on the new frame. Likely because there may have been a subtle implication that we, together, broke the frame engaging in some raunchy funny business (which was not the case, we were just friends at this point).
Thirteen Years
We inevitably started dating soon thereafter.
In this moment, I’m surprised to find myself thinking about a positive memory of my father, because those are few and far between. But this is a good one that perfectly captures how readily Dave was accepted into my family: after a few months of dating, I told my father about Dave, and happened to mention that he is also Jewish. In his signature thick Bronx accent, my dad responded with, “Oh my gawd, it’s a Christmas miracle!” For the remainder of my father’s life, Dave was the favorite of his children, probably because Dave’s so damn easy to love.2
Anyway, with each passing year, our relationship strengthened because it had to and that’s how these things go.
For example, a few months into the relationship, Dave supported me when my body started shutting down. In fact, when I shared that I was anxious and scared after a long day of scans and testing and a far-too-nonchalant message from my neurologist explaining that my symptoms generally pointed to an MS diagnosis, Dave, for the first time, told me that he loved me and that we would tackle everything together.3
(If you haven’t already, now’s a good time to read that first footnote, because that story is relevant here.) My scholarship-for-service required me to be on the missile range during the summer and to move down there for two years post-graduation. We entered our relationship knowing that, if it were to last, we would have to manage long-distance. And so we did.
We each spent countless hours on the overnight Greyhound bus traveling between Denver and Las Cruces, NM. We struggled through finding ways to meaningfully connect while apart because a nightly phone conversation about our days became monotonous. We fell into a bizarre rhythm and pattern that is common in long-distance relationships, where being together was great, and then it was mostly fine in the week or two after, and then the frustration would kick in and we would feel disconnected, and it would suck for some time until we could see each other again and start the whole cycle over.
But eventually I completed my service commitment (actually, I saved up all of my vacation time so I could leave my position a few weeks early) and moved back up to Colorado the day before my 25th birthday.
Later that summer, Dave proposed.
The Proposal
I knew a proposal was coming at some point because we had talked (read: I told) about how it would be best if we were engaged before my family reunion in San Diego later that summer (when all of my cousins were going to be in the same place for the first time in years, a real treat for my grandmother). But also there was a small package that arrived in the mail a few weeks prior that remained tucked away in a corner of a shelf in the closet, the return address bearing his family’s name and zip code.
A few weeks before I moved back home to Colorado, Dave moved into our new apartment in Boulder. It was finally time to upgrade the futon to a real couch, so we donated it to a friend’s basement and sat in camping chairs in front of the television until the new couch arrived. The couch was scheduled to be delivered on July 22nd between 8 am and 12 pm.
That window came and went, and with each passing hour, we became increasingly frustrated because the delay was eating into the time we had for the hike we had planned for the afternoon. The delivery showed up around 5 pm, and by that point, I was hungry and had zero interest in hiking. Dave, however, insisted that we hike anyway.
I was too frustrated to be suspicious.
He took me up to a beautiful overlook called Woods Quarry, where slabs of flagstone had been fashioned into benches so hikers could sit comfortably and enjoy the view of Boulder.
All of my anger and frustration — from dealing with customer service, from stumbling on the trail, from the mounting hanger — completely dissipated when I turned around to find Dave down on one knee.
The Wedding
We were married at the Karl Strauss Brewery in Sorrento Valley, CA on October 22nd, 2016. Like most weddings, ours was not entirely free of hiccups (Dave’s tie went missing right before we signed the Ketubah). However, it was a beautiful and perfect day.
A lot has happened in the eight years since our wedding.
Donald Trump somehow became President a couple weeks after, I worked full-time while starting my business, Dave started his career as a licensed school psychologist, we bought and remodeled a house (and lived with friends for almost six months during the remodel), we adopted a dog (while living with friends—we have exceptional friends!), and we attended a lot of Phish concerts (and other concerts, but mostly Phish).
It hasn’t all been fun, though. We had spent years trying to get pregnant and then the pandemic hit. With the help of a little intervention (thanks, Clomid!), a very unsexy and strict schedule, and the entire world on pause, I found myself pregnant in April 2020. Months later, right before my 30th birthday, we navigated a very lonely and isolating miscarriage (one that was so traumatic, it ultimately resulted in a hysterectomy). Weeks after the miscarriage, I started a new job that I then left after 15 days (the entire experience was a rollercoaster of crazy and ultimately resulted in an indictment of the CEO by the FBI and a brief stint for him in Federal Prison). We also finally went on a (six-year belated) honeymoon to Hawaii, where we spelunked in lava tubes, snorkeled at night with Manta Rays, and explored volcanoes.
Over the years, we’ve gone tubing and canoeing and kayaking, hiking and backpacking and camping and climbing. We’ve run marathons and ultra-marathons and we’ve also taken time away from running. We’ve lost five grandparents and my father, gained new titles of Aunt and Uncle, and attended countless weddings, baby showers, and birthday parties.
All this to say, it’s been an eventful eight years of marriage and 13 years together. There were many highs and many lows, along with lots of bickering (seemingly our love language) and laughter. I can’t speak for Dave, here, but I would be remiss not to acknowledge how much I’ve grown in this relationship and as a result of Dave’s support and love. For all of that, I’m forever grateful.
The Mushy Stuff (Reflections)
It’s wild to think that I’ve been with Dave for more than a third of my life. It’s even more wild that he chose to be with me, despite my many imperfections.
But that’s the thing, right? It’s a choice.
Every day, we choose to be together, we choose to love each other, and we choose to be each others’ home. We have to actively choose to love every iteration of ourselves and each other, in the ways we’ve grown together and — arguably more importantly — in the ways we’ve grown apart.
And it’s not always easy. There are moments when we each have chosen the opposite, where we’ve questioned how healthy the relationship is and our compatibility and wondered if we made the right choice in choosing to spend our lives with each other. But here we are, 13 years into the relationship, 8 years into the marriage, still choosing each other.
Two of the reasons I think we are most compatible are our shared existential dread and dark, intellectual sense of humor. We operate on the same wavelength (most of the time). We are both too smart for our own good and far too educated in theories of philosophy and psychology to ever feel comfortable in complacency or this crazy world in which we reside.
In the times when we’ve felt disconnected (of which there have been too many to count), we always manage to find ways to reconnect and develop our communication pathways. As long as we remain open to learning and growing as individuals and as a unit, we’ll continue to build upon the strength of the foundation we’ve already created in this relationship’s 13-year tenure.
Maybe that’s the whole point of marriage, or being with a partner long-term. What is a relationship if you’re not constantly building something? We’ve already built a home, a family (kind of), and our careers.
If I had to put a finger on it, I would argue that, right now, we’re building more autonomy and independence, more connection, communication, and understanding. In true NYC fashion, we’re continually reinforcing the permanent scaffolding that has historically prevented relationship-related structural collapse.
This year and next, more tangibly, we’re building a new non-profit (hi, Maddy!), and we are generally just doing more. I’ve been training for the NYC marathon (less than two weeks away!), and Dave has spent most summer weekends climbing big peaks. Together, we’re finally planning vacations we’ve avoided because we (probably mostly me) felt it was too expensive to travel much—we’re going to Iceland in February to see the Northern Lights!
When I was living in New Mexico during years three and four of this relationship, we proudly announced that it was FriDave, or SaturDave, or whatever day(ve) it was that we got to see each other again. As those days got closer, we would count how many sleeps were left before we reunited. We share other cute phrases [like: “I’m going to brush my tooth” (no explanation needed) and “Gold Luck!” (a typo that has lived forever in our hearts, minds, and vocabulary)] and I can identify at least a dozen ways in which we each have, in chameleon-like fashion, morphed into one another. We are certainly individuals, but we are also a solid unit. It may be clear physically, but it’s not always clear otherwise where each of us ends and the other begins.
The short version of that story goes: Three days before graduation, I received notification that I was awarded the SMART Scholarship through the Department of Defense. When I submitted my application, I had intended to pursue a relevant PhD. However, I realized in the spring as admission offers rolled in that I couldn’t commit to 5-7 years of school when I couldn’t even manage to stay in college for more than 3. As a result, I elected to attend a master’s program, which felt like a happy middle ground. I honestly had forgotten that I had interviewed for this scholarship several months prior, and when I received the email with the contract to sign, I had to email back to explain that I had chosen a different program, one that didn’t actually qualify for the award and one that was much shorter (meaning my service commitment would be fewer years). The sponsoring facility (the TRADOC Analysis Center at White Sands Missile Range, NM) agreed to make the adjustment and everything felt settled until June, when the government cut funding to the human dimension research I was being hired to conduct. All I felt was turmoil about the entire situation: Would I still have funding for school? Did I want to commit to working for the Army? What would my job look like if my role no longer exists?
Ultimately, after months of back and forth with my sponsoring facility about what a different position might look like and how I could qualify to be hired in said position, one that was entirely irrelevant to my studies or interests, I did wind up leaving NYC and moving to Denver later that summer to attend my master’s program.
Now’s probably a good time to acknowledge that I didn’t really care if my partner was Jewish, but it certainly made most things easier (we understood each other’s Yiddush and guilt and anxiety). It also resulted in disagreements I never thought I’d have, like who gets to decide where we go for Passover (a shared favorite holiday of ours).
To be honest, I felt the same way but didn’t say it back because I wanted to make sure his declaration was not out of pity or fear or anxiety.
This is also lovely. I'm always trying to understand what makes partnership work for people. Thanks for the insight, loved this:
"Every day, we choose to be together, we choose to love each other, and we choose to be each others’ home. We have to actively choose to love every iteration of ourselves and each other, in the ways we’ve grown together and — arguably more importantly — in the ways we’ve grown apart."
Jess- Congrats on the wedding anniversary. I appreciate this reflection, especially with the move back to Boulder. Weather is pretty drastic recently from 80s suddenly to 30s.